a rooskie in dublin
BABIES REIGN SUPREME!
By Irina Kuksova
A birthday party at a friend's house. Or something that could have been a party. Only that it's not – her two-year-old son is up. He's on a "you are mine" mission. We already know the young mum has lost. You can see the struggle on her face as she's trying to remember the last phrase she said in an attempt to entertain her guests. No, it's gone. Her attention switches back to her son. No, no, it is positively impossible to talk about anything but him.
She tells us how she barely has time for herself, how she has to watch the baby all the time. That's not the first time I hear this song. Most of the stay-at-home mums know the lyrics. It saddens me to think how many bright women – formerly "active members of the society" – are imprisoned by their own toddlers. "But you can't imagine what joy and satisfaction it brings them", you may say. Indeed, I can't imagine, and what young mothers keep telling doesn't help my imagination either. Try listening to them long enough, and the whole "minding a baby" experience seems more of a scary sci-fi: beautiful and intelligent beings (women) forced to serve aliens, who can't survive on this planet on their own (babies).
I don't know about you, but the more I visit friends who have a baby, the more afraid I am to have one myself. The only way of having a "life after baby" seems to be hiring a full-time baby-sitter. Someone for the "little alien" to wrap its attention-sucking tentacles around.